Destiny's Warriors: Book 1 of 4 (2017 Edition)
by python862
Summary: A young mage and his friends are tasked with settling aggressions in Westfall, but not all is as it seems. Will the group unravel long-standing plots before it comes to be too late, or will Stormwind finally feel the wrath of the Defias Brotherhood? Revised and rewritten from the 2007 story of the same name.
1. Origins

Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property _World of Warcraft_. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A/N (2017): This story, and those that follow, are under renovations until further notice. I started writing these tales a decade ago when I was too young and dumb to notice how utterly trash most of it is. So, with that said, I think it's high time to bring them back up to speed and turn them into something that might actually be worth a read. I'm updating these chapter by chapter, so there will be some disconnects as the new chapters meet with the old ones that I haven't gotten to yet. With all that out of the way, though, please enjoy Destiny's Warriors 2.0, and thanks for reading.

* * *

 **Destiny's Warriors**

 **Chapter One: Origins**

The old dirt paths through Elwynn Forest were damp and miserable. The sole traveler on one such road lamented the fact as the mud beneath his feet splattered onto the thin fabric of the canvas boots he wore. Rain fell in torrents upon the leafy green canopy of the forest that the man once called his home, and droplets of water lazily oozed across the branches until it finally groped its way to the underbrush. Occasionally, white-hot streaks of lightning flashed across the skies like overloading strobes, illuminating the man's surroundings briefly before the oppressive dark of the clouds above reasserted itself. None of this truly mattered to the traveler; he was near enough to his destination that not even such dismal weather darkened his spirits.

Peaking through the low branches ahead of him, the small village of Goldshire met his eyes. Goldshire was a quaint town, full of equally quaint people who were content to lead simple lives. To call the place a village was perhaps an overstatement. Maybe five buildings stood on the path and its surrounding acreage, and it generally served as nothing more than a rest stop in between bigger and better destinations. Small children of the townspeople and travelers passing through would often run around on the path, chasing each other and playing games, but on this day there were no such frivolities. The rain had seen to that.

Steadily, the man trudged through the mud and the puddles, ever closer to the quaint hamlet. As he strode, he reflected on the recent years that tore him away from this place, and everything that happened since. There was a great deal of memories in those years, but not all of them were good ones. Bandits. The Burning Legion. The Scourge. Dragons. The traveler pushed the thoughts away for the moment and continued on.

Soon enough he reached his destination, and with a fond regard, took in the sights. The Lion's Pride Inn stood to his left—a tiny little tavern in a tiny little town, this was the place where the man's adventures started, and was what he considered home. The whitewashed walls and the stark contrast of the wooden beams supporting them sparked a sense of nostalgia to wash over the man, and he smiled. With a few more strides, he entered.

As he stepped through the open threshold, he shook off the dampness clinging to his cloak much like a dog would, and droplets of water splattered against the wooden floor and walls. More comfortable and satisfied, he moved on into the tavern proper. The traveler took a seat at the nearest unoccupied table next to the blazing fire, feeling the warmth spread through him. The waitress on call for the night took his order for an ale, and he carefully removed his packs, dropping them to the floor to his side with a dissatisfying squelch. Rummaging through the pack for a moment, the man retrieved a tube of parchment and a quill. The waitress returned after another moment with his ale, and he spread the parchment across the wooden table. With a stretch, the man began to write his tale.

* * *

 ** _'The days seem so long ago, when I think about the times I was lazy and carefree. I whiled my days away doing odd jobs for quick coin, and drank my nights away in this very tavern with friends I met along the way. My lackadaisical lifestyle would not stay the same forever, I knew, but it still comes as a surprise this many years later, how quickly it all had changed. On a night much like any other, my destiny finally found me.'_**

A fine layer of snow blanketed the grounds just outside the Lion's Pride Inn, and brisk winds carried chills through the small town of Goldshire. Twilight painted the forest in whimsical colors as townsfolk enjoyed the white powder, forming balls of snow in their mitts and throwing them at each other and unsuspecting passersby. Simonee watched the revelry happening outside through one of the windows inside the tavern and smiled for a brief moment before taking another deep chug from the mug on the table.

Across from his seat, a night elf inspected him as he continued gazing through the clear glass window. "So, what are your plans for tomorrow? Any more of those kobolds making a mess around town in the cellars?" he asked when it became clear that the human wasn't paying him any mind.

Simonee finally turned to look at the night elf. He was tall and broad, with hair of deep purple that was held back in a long pony tail. He had sharply glowing silver eyes that bore into his own, and wore an expression of mild interest, with one eyebrow raised and his lips cracked open into a toothy grin. The elf was a friend of his, Aeriah, who helped him from time to time clearing caves and basements nearby of the mindlessly aggressive kobolds who often grew bold enough to take up residence within.

Simonee shook his head and grinned. "No, the contract I had with the farmer yesterday is done. I don't think there's going to be much more problem after I sent that one back to Fargodeep with his tail smoldering hotter than the candle on his head," he replied with a chuckle. "No," he repeated, stretching out his muscles, "I've actually been summoned to the city. Apparently word of my... services... has reached some at least mildly-influential ears."

Aeriah eyed him skeptically. "Your _services_ , hmm?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "Tell me, were they aware of whose idea was it to rush headlong into Jangolode Mine wearing nothing but candle wax, calling themselves the ghost of candles past?"

A third figure at the table sighed, his head buried in his arms on the table. "For the love of the Light, not _this_ again," it groaned, lolling its head to one side to level a would-be devastating glare at the night elf. The man was dressed in thick black leather armor, plain but for the silver threads lining the trim. He had a disheveled mop of equally black hair that didn't seem to fall in any particular style, and eyes of deep green that were surrounded by thick wrinkles at the edges. From the way he was having trouble leering at Aeriah, Simonee knew that this rogue also happened to be drunk.

"No, this is important, Dagerly. I really can't see who would be foolish enough to hire someone who would have done something like that in a den full of angry, shovel wielding kobolds," Aeriah said, his grin wider as he shrugged.

Simonee laughed. "Well, first off, it worked, didn't it? They were so scared when I told them that I would take their candles if they stepped foot outside. You should have seen their faces!"

"Right, and that had nothing to do with the giant mass of shadows lurking behind you, I assume," said a fourth voice. Sitting down at the table beside Simonee was a man wearing a thin layer of blue linen robes. Other patrons of the bar eyed him warily, and eyed the prancing imp at his heels balefully. His thick and long blonde locks spilled over his face as he sat. His deep red eyes were nonchalant as he swept them across the room, before settling his gaze on Simonee. "Or the warlock behind that."

With a dramatic sigh, Simonee simply replied, "You guys just don't know a good idea when you see it. Besides, it was hilarious!"

Dagerly sat up straighter, wobbling back and forth as he continued to fight the alcohol's influence. "Hoardale? When did you get in?" he asked, and to his credit, only slurred the words slightly.

The warlock shrugged. "Just now, actually. I see you've already gone and made a mess of yourself. Leave it to you, Dagerly." A warm smile brightened his features. "So what's this about Stormwind?" he asked, poking Simonee in the shoulder.

"Well, tomorrow I'm leaving for the city. I'm meeting with a man named Baros Alexston, regarding some trouble brewing in Westfall. Apparently bandits have taken to attacking Sentinel Hill and they need some _creative thinkers_ ," he said, looking at Aeriah pointedly before continuing, "to help the town out."

Hoardale let out a low whistle. "Westfall, eh? That's a fair walk. When are you leaving for the city?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Simonee turned to look at the warlock. " _We_ are leaving at first light. I'll be honest, I wouldn't know the first thing about dissuading bandits and I'm sure they would appreciate the extra help regardless. My specialty is kobolds. Specifically, lighting them on fire," he commented, conjuring a small flame that danced around his fingertips.

"If you ask me, you are wasting your talents," Aeriah said, with a small frown. Out of his three friends at the table, the elf had known him the longest... and the best. Simonee was grateful when he left his admonishment to the one comment, as he extinguished the magic. "Anyway, why would Sentinel Hill need our help with simple bandits? They've got trained guardsmen there, don't they? Something seems off."

Simonee sighed and rubbed his eyes. He had to agree; Sentinel Hill was generally a self-sufficient place, and served as a major trade outpost for the farmers in the area. As such, it had a contingent of well-armed and well-trained Stormwind guards to protect their interests. Something _was_ off about the situation, but it wasn't his place to question missives from high places. He gazed again out the window. The children outside had gone, as night dropped in around the forest, creating deep shadows where the wildlife would begin scavenging for food. Simonee turned back to Aeriah.

"You're right, but we'll figure it out when we get there. I'm sure they're not sending us out there for no reason. But first, we have to meet with Alexston... maybe he'll shed some light on things for us. In the meantime, I'm going to sleep. I'd suggest the same for you guys; it's a pretty long way to Stormwind."

Simonee stood from the table and knocked back the rest of his ale before navigating his legs around the bench he'd been sitting on. Dagerly groaned as he followed suit, continuing to wobble. Simonee chuckled. "Alright, take it easy," he said and walked to his friend's side. He braced the rogue and led him to the stairs nearby. "Up we go."

After a few minutes of guiding his friend up the switchback stairs and into his room, Simonee closed the door and sighed. _There's no way he's going to be in traveling shape tomorrow morning_. He collected himself again and walked to the next door down, closing the portal as he entered and settling down heavily on the bed. With a yawn and a flick of his wrist, the lantern in the room extinguished, and the drowsiness overtook him. _At least I'll be in good company for the journey_ , he mused as the first waves of sleep washed over him.

 ** _'The eve of my sojourn into Stormwind City, I didn't sleep well. Glimpses of the past I was desperately trying to forget played like a horrifying slideshow through my dreams, and more than once the visions woke me. Despite this, I now had a mission—appointed by the chief architect of the city itself—and I was duty-bound to complete it. The next morning, we four left Goldshire and began our trek. Were we brave or foolhardy? I still cannot tell.'_**

Simonee woke grumbling as the first rays of dawn peaked through his room's windows. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes for a few moments, putting off waking up fully. When he was finally prepared to greet the new day, he rose and walked to a nearby stone basin full of water. The room was a small affair; a bed rested against the wall opposite the door, directly underneath a wide window that nearly took up the entire wall. A lantern rested on a wooden writing desk, which also held a few tomes and periodicals, courtesy of the inn's staff. The basin where he stood had been erected next to the desk, and above it was a mirror hung on the wall. He looked into it and grumbled again as he stared himself down.

Simonee was a young man of fair complexion and slight build. Fine and spindly brown hair grew down to his neck, where same-colored stubble was just beginning to grow in. The stubble irritated and itched, but Simonee disregarded it; it had started to grow later than most human men he'd seen, and he was eager to let it grow into one of those magnificent beards he saw older sorcerers wearing. He had eyes the color of a clear summer sky, and laugh lines that bracketed his nose and mouth. His white linen undershirt hung loosely from his shoulders, beginning to stain slightly from the sweat he'd collected the night before in his sleep. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about that.

The young mage took up some water in his hands and splashed his face with it. The cold water stung a little as it came in contact with his skin, but it served its purpose. He was certainly wide awake now.

The final decoration in the room was a four-pronged garment hook that was posted at the foot of the bed. The sole garment on the hook was a bright orange robe of wool, one that the mage had made himself when he'd finally saved enough money for the materials and spellthread that comprised it. With a sharp yank, he pulled it free and put it on, feeling its familiar weight settle on his shoulders. With practiced motions, he fastened it quickly and collected his last few belongings—a dark brown pack on the floor and a staff he had found in one of the myriad kobold caves in the mines nearby. The staff doubtlessly belonged to a predecessor of his who'd gotten too bold in his methods. A small amount of arcane residue thrummed in the staff's wooden body and spoke to Simonee occasionally of demon fire.

Warlocks were not uncommon in Goldshire, but they were still not trusted very well. Especially not one who openly flaunted their demon familiars, such as Hoardale. His friend was not ashamed of the path he followed, and refused to be cowed by the townsfolk's glares. Simonee admired that fact sometimes, even though it led to trouble more often than not when they traveled together. He'd met the warlock a couple of years prior in the mage towers of Stormwind when he was searching for a particular tome in the vast library. The warlock was a man of mischief and would often set his succubus loose in the great stacks of bookcases, who would then proceed to cause a ruckus with the younger male mages studying in the tower. Such was the case when Simonee met Hoardale. He had found his book and was just making to check it out with the librarian when he heard the warlock chortling a couple of stacks down the hallway.

Simonee confronted the man and they instantly bonded as friends. Simonee hadn't been much concerned with the stigma that surrounded warlocks; in fact he was more curious than anything about the magic they 'borrowed' from the Burning Legion, and the theories they had used to do it. It was something he had resolved to eventually study and write his own book about at some point.

He chuckled softly at the memory and took the staff in his hands. The wood was gnarled and knotted, and bent slightly at the top end in a way that was reminiscent of a scythe's blade.

With his belongings collected and settled on his person, he made for the door. Outside, he heard more than he saw Aeriah pounding at the door adjacent.

"Dagerly, let's go," he called through the wood, rapping his hand against it. "We're leaving soon, and you're not staying here."

The rogue in the room groaned balefully, just loud enough to be audible in the hall. A few moments later he had shuffled to the door and opened it. Dark circles were showing underneath his eyes, and he scowled at the elf. "You're very loud, you know," he muttered.

Simonee smiled. "Come on, aren't you even a little bit excited to see Stormwind again?" he asked while he stepped from his room and closed the door behind.

"I would be more excited if my head didn't feel like a horse spent the whole night stamping on it," the rogue grunted, pushing past Aeriah and into the hallway. Without another word, he trundled down the stairs.

"Is Hoardale already up?" Simonee asked Aeriah as he watched the rogue struggle his way down.

Aeriah glanced at the mage briefly. "I assume he's already in the dining room," he said, shrugging. He paused a moment before addressing Simonee again. "What are you doing, chasing down bandits? It's beneath you," he said.

Simonee sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't really feel like talking about this right now," he replied, frowning. "My past is just that. I'm nothing special."

The night elf regarded him for another moment. "You know it's going to catch up with you at some point. It might be better to head it off and confront it sooner rather than later," he said, before letting the topic go and following Dagerly down. Simonee sighed again. Flashes of a great desiccated land and lumbering flesh-beasts briefly played across his mind's eye. _No_ , he thought, _it might not be._

Letting a few moments pass as he recollected his faculties, Simonee stepped down to the tavern's dining hall. The hall was fairly well decorated, with tapestries and wall sconces spaced evenly along the walls. Two windows opposite each other showed scenes of a wintry playground as the kids had resumed their game from the evening before. Three large wooden tables bracketed by benches rested across the dining room floor, and were mostly empty of activity, save for Aeriah, Dagerly and Hoardale settling into one next to the fireplace. Simonee strode down the last few stairs and joined them.

Dagerly was resting his head in one hand as the other deftly maneuvered a spoon, stirring the cup of coffee he was staring into. Hoardale had been twiddling his thumbs as he watched from the corner of his eyes while his succubus tormented the kitchen staff with lewd showings. Simonee shook his head, chuckling. The night elf was just settling in with his own mug, which had a small bag of herbal leaves steeping in steaming water. Simonee joined his company and simply conjured a small skin of water for himself.

"So, about to be off for adventure, are we?" Hoardale asked, glancing at the mage while his succubus began lavishly laying across the bar, running her hands across her body. The demon's tail swished wickedly. She was obviously enjoying her work.

Simonee nodded. "As soon as we're all ready, we're on our way," he said after setting his waterskin down from a sip.

"Can't we put this off for another day?" Dagerly asked, finally breaking his stare away from the inky black coffee. The rogue looked marginally better than he had when he first stumbled through the door of his room, but still had a haggard roughness in his face.

"No," Simonee said, looking the rogue's face over. "Baros Alexston is not a man to be kept waiting. The missive I got was sealed with the royal crest. Not just anyone has the sort of weight that comes with that."

Dagerly's eyes widened a touch as he raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough," he said before glaring into the mug again. "Well, in that case, I'm ready whenever... though my head still feels like it's going to fall off."

Aeriah leveled an inscrutable look at Simonee before replying, "This assignment gets more intriguing with every new detail, doesn't it? Regardless, I'm ready to leave as well."

Simonee nodded again and Hoardale sighed. "I suppose we should get going then. Zalla, come on, before one of those poor cooks makes an even poorer decision," he called with a wicked smile.

"Oh, but master, you never allow me any _fun_ ," the succubus breathed. Her voice sounded almost musical to Simonee, but he had known better than to be drawn in. Hoardale told him many a story of how truly unrepentant succubi were with their captured prey, and Simonee was very sure he didn't want to be on the business end of any of it.

Hoardale cocked his head. "Oh? Then what was all of that?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the kitchen, where the men of the kitchen were still reeling from the display.

"Foreplay, obviously, master," Zalla replied sweetly. She turned her gaze to Simonee's. "Oh, but it's always such a pleasure to see _you_." She giggled almost maliciously as he flushed slightly and turned away.

"Alright, enough, Zalla," Hoardale grunted sternly. Zalla huffed and strode to his side, taking a sudden interest in the wicked talons on her fingertips. "Well then, shall we?"

Dagerly groaned for a moment before emptying his mug. "Sooner the better, I suppose," he said, standing up. The rest of the group followed suit and before long found themselves on the vague path toward Stormwind.

The dirt road had been replaced with snow, depressed a fair bit from the surrounding powder by the traffic that traveled through. Patches of the dirt occasionally peeked through the thin layers of ice, and dozens of muddy footprints emblazoned the trail in both directions. Deer pranced in the clearings of the thickets on either side of the road, oblivious to the small huddled group of travelers.

They walked through almost the entirety of the day before the tall stone walls of Stormwind began to rise into vision on the horizon. The trees were cleared out and a long plain spread out before them, a grand prelude to the city's splendor. Small carts of goods were strewn along the path's edges, and shivering merchants bundled in whatever furs they could afford hawked their wares to the many passersby that filtered through. One such vendor had posted their cart close to the edge of the forest, either bold or having been pushed away from the more lucrative spots by her competitors. The forest was dangerous for unarmed merchants, and not just for the wildlife that prowled within.

Simonee was walking silently in thought as they approached the plain, his eyes plastered to the ground passing underfoot. He thought more about the missive that had arrived in his post not two days before, bearing the seal of the royal court of Stormwind.

 _Magister Simonee,_ the letter read. _A matter of grave importance has come to our attention, and word of your deeds for the people of Goldshire has reached my ears. A group of bandits calling themselves the Defias Brotherhood have been making trouble in Sentinel Hill, and I feel that you may be able to lend some assistance in this matter. It is my hope that this letter finds you, and that you come to Stormwind so that we may meet and discuss this matter more privately. May your travels bear you safely. -Baros Alexston, chief architect of Stormwind._

A brief flash of motion in his peripheral vision brought Simonee out of his thoughts, and a stifled shriek brought him to alert. Ahead, a man in leather armor and a red cowl across his face was holding the woman merchant with his knife to her neck and a hand over her mouth.

"Give me the money and I might just think about letting you go," he snarled, barely audible across the distance. The woman's eyes were wide, darting between the knife at her throat and the man's eyes. They widened a little more when she drifted her gaze over the rogue's shoulder, catching sight of Simonee's traveling band. The bandit turned to follow her stare and his eyes betrayed the sneer hidden beneath the cowl.

Simonee narrowed his eyes and glared back, raising his hand and allowing fire to engulf it. Despite the anger he was feeling at the merchant's treatment, he exuded a calm air. "How about this: let the woman go, and _I_ might just decide not to roast you alive."

His comment seemed to amuse the bandit, but he released his grip on the woman. He stared at the mage briefly before he began to dash at him. His speed impressed Simonee a little, but he had no difficulty tracking the man. "Bad move," he called. Simonee felt the energy of the spell flow through his body, his veins the conduit feeding the magic. With a gesture, he released the flame and gave it form. The ball of fire raced at the rogue, whose momentum was too great to sidestep the spell. The fire crashed against the rogue, burning a hole straight through the armor and stopping him in his tracks. The man collapsed in a smoldering heap to the ground, and convulsed momentarily before lying still.

"I could have handled that," the woman said as she walked past the fresh corpse. Her tone was full of confidence despite the cold fear she seemed to express while in the bandit's grasp. Her icy blue robes swished across the surface of the snow. "I'm not defenseless, you know."

Simonee arched a brow at her as Dagerly strode forward to meet her. He was looking in decidedly better spirits now. "You could have fooled me, miss," he said, bowing low with a flourish. The woman looked at him with an expression of almost contempt. "But then again, I can't resist a damsel in distress."

"Don't condescend to me," she spat. She swept her gaze to Simonee's, and continued walking past the rogue. "Even if I _didn't_ need saving, I still feel I should thank you." She stood in front of him now, holding out her hand to shake. "My name's Aubrey Witherwinter. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Simonee accepted her hand and shook it. Before he could pull it away, he felt a prickling feeling needling into his nerves and looked down. Both of their hands were encased in a solid-looking block of ice. "Simon Everblaze, at your service," he replied, reappraising the woman with his eyes. She was young and beautiful, with deep blue eyes that almost seemed to match his. She had short-cropped blonde hair that framed a plump face and full lips that displayed a devious smile. "Everyone just calls me Simonee, though."

Aubrey nodded, but didn't release him. "Well, Simonee, my friends call me Aubs. So tell me, what brings you to these parts, and with such company?" she asked, nodding toward the rest of his companions. Dagerly had gracefully recovered from the woman's scorn and fell back in with Aeriah and Hoardale, who were simply looking on with vague interest. The succubus Zalla had wandered off at some point to distract one of the merchants further ahead.

"Official business," Simonee replied. He sent a small flare of fiery energy through his arm, testing the strength of the ice. He was impressed by its resiliency, as it didn't even seem to sweat. Aubrey smiled at him with an almost mocking sweetness.

"Sounds interesting. I think I'll join you," she said, the devilish smile reappearing as she narrowed her eyes at him. "I was never quite cut out for sales, anyway."

Simonee laughed despite himself. This woman was very bold indeed. "Now, Aubs... what makes you think that would happen?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aubs merely continued smiling. "Oh, sweetheart, you're stuck with me now. Whether you like it or not," she said, patting the ice encasing their arms with her free hand. Simonee laughed again.

"Fair enough," he said. "Welcome aboard, then, Aubs." He stepped aside to introduce the others. "The fellow in black is Dagerly, the elf is Aeriah, and the warlock is Hoardale," he commented, gesturing at each as he went.

"Nice to meet you all," Aubs said, wiggling her free fingers in greeting. "So. Shall we away, then?" she asked, returning her eyes to Simonee's. The ice finally broke apart and Simonee rubbed at his arm idly.

When he was satisfied with the numbness fading, he gestured grandiosely toward Stormwind. "We shall," he replied. Waving the group on, Simonee began walking as Aubs fell in with their ranks. "That's a very interesting sales pitch you have there, by the way. I bet it holds your customers captive," he sniped. Aubs simply laughed.

"Be that as it may, I have to admit; I generally like my bandits chilled on the rocks, not extra crispy," she fired back.

As the group passed by the corpse of the bandit, Simonee noticed that the snow adjacent had melted away, leaving the bare dirt path open to the skies. He smiled. He was beginning to like the latest addition to the party.

Behind them, Dagerly rolled his eyes. "First, denied by the miss, and now subjected to this awfulness. Light take me," he muttered.

Ahead, the behemoth stonewalled fortress of Stormwind City loomed.


	2. Alexston

**Chapter Two: Alexston**

A haggard old man stood at the top of the hill in a haggard old town. The midday sun beat mercilessly down on him despite the wintry breezes, like it was intent on roasting him alive inside the heavy plate armor he wore. If the heat had fazed him in any way, he hadn't made it known, as he silently stood and gazed over the worn and beaten town. Behind him, the tall tower that served as his garrison rose stolidly as if to imitate the man that stood at its base. The Sentinel of Sentinel Hill, they called him. He had to admit, he rather liked the title.

Gryan Stoutmantle had watched over the settlement since the first settlers inhabited the once-green plains of Westfall. At one point in his life he had resented his charge, wanting nothing more than to return to the city of Stormwind, but time had changed his perspective as it ravaged his body, and now he called this place his home. Even now, as the rolling green hills of grasslands began to fade into desolate stretches of dust, he found he wouldn't have changed a thing. These were his people, and his sworn duty was to protect them.

His job had been made that much harder when the Defias Brotherhood came. Day after day, fresh waves of cutthroats stormed into Sentinel Hill, looking to beat them into submission. Stoutmantle held fast in his duty, and his men rallied to his side, but the fighting was beginning to take its toll—his efforts were needed elsewhere in the province, but he was unable to answer the calls for aid. Frightened townsfolk cowering in their homes and farmers fleeing their steads with horse-drawn wagons in tow were sadly common sights in the Westfall of today, and his soldiers' morale was beginning to falter. Dust storms wracked the plains and hard-worked fields of crops, and even the mechanical aides of the farms were starting to malfunction, going haywire and maiming farmhands who were unfortunate enough to be working nearby.

He'd sent word to Stormwind asking for the city's aid in solving the myriad problems that continued to spring up in Westfall, but no response had made it back to him, and the days dragged on as he waited. Travelers stopping into Sentinel Hill spoke of worrying news in the provinces neighboring Westfall; worgen invading the woods across the river... orcs in the mountains northeast. With reports like those, Stoutmantle wasn't sure if he would ever get reinforcements.

A stiff breeze played at his tabard, the deep blue cloth fluttering in the cold wind. He looked down into the eyes of the lion emblem boldly embroidered on the garment. His shield rested against the wall atop the ramp leading into the garrison, the same lion emblem adorning its front side. The light reflected across its features, and a flash of pride shot through his chest. He would make do with what he had, and Light be willing, no amount of Defias would take this town while he yet drew breath. His youth may have left him, but his arms were still strong, and he could still swing a blade.

Brief flickers of movement in his peripheral vision renewed his watchful gaze and brought it across to the town's graveyard, nestled between two tall hills. Bright flashes of sunlight played across steel swords as men cloaked in shadow quickly darted between headstones. Stoutmantle sneered at the sight.

"Militia, to my side!" he called, removing his own sword from its sheath in a quick motion. He brought his shield to bear in his other hand. "The Defias come for us again!"

* * *

 _ **'The high walls of Stormwind never ceased to amaze me in my youth. The city seemed impenetrable, and any time I crossed into its borders, a sense of safety washed over me. Our little band, with its newest member, had made it there without any further issue, as the sun swung low on the horizon.'**_

Simonee gawked in amazement as he passed underneath the monolithic statues that stood tall above the bridge leading into Stormwind. The guardians of the realm of old watched over the travelers into and out of the city, promising protection from harm. Below them, a deep moat of the deepest blue waters lapped at the banks that contained it, and upon those embankments were easygoing fishermen and women, lazily eyeing the bobbers of the lines they cast into the water. Fair winds brought with them the scent of sea life, as well as the bright white figures of seagulls flying overhead, from the opposite side of the city and the harbor built there.

Soldiers wearing the regalia of the city patrolled the bridge, ever vigilant as they scanned the faces of anyone crossing in search of those who might not wish to be seen. As far as Simonee could tell, the only other people occupying the bridge was an orphanage matron leading her children to see the giant statues that were erected upon it. The little ones wore expressions of pure awe as they stared at the faces of Azeroth's protectors, and Simonee smiled at their innocence. He silently hoped that none of them would ever be subjected to the kinds of things the sentinels above them had worked at protecting them from. At the far end of the bridge, a well-built man sat upon an equally well-built white stallion with his hands resting on the pommel of his sheathed blade. The deep blue cloth of the horse's barding rippled as it restlessly shook its mane. Above the man, a wall as tall as any Simonee had ever seen rose high into the nearly cloudless sky, carrying the archers and guardsmen that would defend the city from assault. The day was almost over, and the sun began to hide behind the stone structure. Splashes of pink streaked through the deepening blue sky, painting the few clouds that floated across in wonderful arrays of hues.

Simonee drank the sights in, reveling in the city's splendor as they swiftly walked across the stone pathway leading inward beneath the parapets. As the five of them crossed into the city proper, it almost seemed like they had moved into another dimension entirely. The wide streets were crowded as throngs of people jostled their way between the shops of the trade district. Small two-story buildings lined the main thoroughfare into the city, and the flickering flames of the candles that lit their interiors blazed out through their smoky glass windows. Large lampposts punctuated the intersection that cut across the huge lane leading further in—to the left led to the grand auction house of the city and the trade district's tavern and inn, and to the right led out to the canals, through which travelers could access the rest of Stormwind's districts. The street ahead ended in a rounded lane that circled a single tree with a thick trunk and glorious branches that extended outward and hung over the pavement. In front of the tree, Simonee could barely see another mounted guard standing watch through the sea of busy citizens going about their business.

All around them, banners of red and green had been hung from the sides of the buildings and across the great tree in the center of the district, marking the celebration of Winter's Veil. The event itself was still at least a few weeks away, but Stormwind had always been dressed in each holiday's finest, well before it was actually called for.

Simonee and his group slowly wended their way through the chaos of the trade district, picking through the crowds and eventually emerging into the canals that separated the mostly self-contained provinces of the city. They all sported new bumps and bruises from wayward arms and legs, and Dagerly nursed one such injury with a tender hand.

"If I didn't have a headache before, I certainly do now," he groaned with a notable irritation in his voice. "So tell me again, who are we supposed to see here?" Simonee turned to look at the rogue, whose expression echoed the frustration he spoke with. A hand clutched at his head and his brow was furrowed into a deep scowl.

"Baros Alexston. He's in the Cathedral square, operating as chief architect," the mage replied, steadying his pace with his staff.

Hoardale, who had taken to polishing a crystal of deep purple, looked up with an eyebrow raised. Before the group had begun crossing the bridge into the city, he had dismissed Zalla in favor of walking alone; he wasn't afraid of wearing his skill set on his sleeve, but he knew enough to realize that a demon being seen walking in a crowd was generally how panics got started. "The cathedral? You always take me to the nicest places," he quipped as he refocused his attention to the crystal. "Nothing I like more than walking into a crowd of Light-botherers. Really reminds me of home."

Simonee chuckled slightly. On top of his dealings in the mages' library, Hoardale had gotten into his fair share of theological arguments with the residents of the massive church building for which their destination had gotten its name. He remembered a couple that had even nearly gone to blows. "You're welcome to go on your own until we've finished with our discussion, if you'd like," Simonee said, his tone only half-mocking.

The warlock seemed to consider this for a moment or two before replying. "Nah," he said. He replaced the crystal in the pack he'd taken it from. "This should be interesting enough to warrant the visit."

The canals of the city were breathtaking, but not for the water within. Simonee had heard tales in his travels of crocolisks taking up residence within, or monsters made of slime rising from their depths. He didn't put much stock in the stories, but wasn't naive enough to believe that the water was clean. Vagrants who'd taken to living on the streets of Stormwind often used it as a bath, and gondolas that glided across the still moats often bore passengers that held no scruples against dumping waste overboard. The real draw of the canals for Simonee was the stonework that contained it all. Simple, yet elegant stone bridges spanned the gaps between districts, and small wooden docks lined the sides. Fishermen often flocked to the docks, casting lines for bait fish to use in the larger moat at the entrance to the city, or the sea to the west of it.

A few more moments of walking had seen the group to the entrance of the cathedral district, directly across from the trade district. They navigated the street into the large overhang that covered the intersection leading inside. When they emerged, Simonee could hear Hoardale scoff.

The cathedral rose above them directly ahead, its spires reaching into the heavens as if the building wished to commune with the Light itself. The Pale Lady shimmered softly behind the main tower, and its glow wrapped around it like a mother's warm embrace. Simonee had always found the building and its gilded tips a little too ostentatious for his liking, but he still respected the craftsmanship that had gone into it. The church itself was wide, deep, and tall, with vaulted ceilings covering the interior in a shallow attempt to humble those who entered. Massive stained glass windows depicting various historic paladins and priests dominated the back wall of the chapel, and directly before them, a comparatively small wooden altar-slash-lectern had been erected, facing outward to an incredible number of darkly-stained wooden pews. Even from the entrance to the square, through the chapel's open doors, Simonee could spot the austere colors of the windows shining in the moonlight. Outside, three spires had been lifted atop the church, the central being the tallest by far, even dwarfing the very walls of the city. Simonee was sure he could have spotted it from the Redridge Mountains without much work.

Before the cathedral lay the chapel gardens, which was Simonee's favorite thing about the district by far. The trees almost looked like they'd been transplanted from Darnassus itself, and the flowers that bloomed underneath splayed open with whimsical colors. Despite the temperatures of winter, the gardens always looked their best, and Simonee had taken to the sneaking suspicion that they were magically tended to, so that they appeared timeless.

Aeriah stepped ahead of the group and took in the sights, seemingly in his element. A wide smile crossed his face and he closed his eyes. "Absolutely beautiful," he murmured.

"Have you ever been to the city, Aeriah?" Aubs asked as she looked on with a humored glint in her eyes.

The druid took another relaxed breath. "I have, but I've never been to this specific corner," he replied. "I have to wonder what else I've missed here, if this is the first time I've laid eyes on these gardens."

"Well, there is a park district nearby. I daresay it's not as tacky as all of this," Hoardale said, waving his arms to seemingly indicate the entire cathedral square. "For example, the gardens there are actually seasonal."

Aeriah opened his eyes and continued smiling, gazing into the boughs of the tree he'd walked under. "These are not tacky," he commented. "All of nature's bounties are stunning. Even these."

He took in the gardens for a few moments longer before rejoining the group as they navigated around the gardens and toward a long building that sported two entryways.

"That there is the orphanage," Simonee explained as he noticed Aeriah's confusion. He pointed to the left-handed doorway that lay open, spilling orange candlelight onto the darkened masonry the building rested on. "But this side is where we'll likely find Alexston," he continued, indicating the right-hand door. It was closed, but through the windows and the small gap at the door's bottom, Simonee could see the same flickering orange light. A wooden sign hung over the portal, swinging gently in the light breeze. Scrawled on it in some sort of metallic ink was a crest and the words 'Stormwind Masons Guild'.

Simonee ascended the small set of wooden stairs that preceded the door and knocked firmly on the wooden portal. Moments later, the door creaked open and behind, a slightly portly man in simple clothing peered out at them. He looked to be middle aged, with a large bald spot dominating the top of his head, otherwise occupied by wisps of light brown hair streaked through with gray. His hazel eyes appraised them from behind thick-rimmed spectacles, and a thick goatee encompassed the thin line that indicated his mouth.

Sensing that the man expected him to speak his business, Simonee introduced himself. "Greetings. My name is Simon Everblaze, and I've been summoned to speak with Master Alexston, regarding the contents of this missive," he said, holding out the letter he'd received.

The man looked him over again before motioning the group inside. The interior of this half of the building was adorned simply. Straightforward brass fixings held thick wax candlesticks to the wall directly next to the door frame, which cast their light across the rest of the room. On the walls across from the door, wide bookshelves had been lined up side by side, full to their limits with tomes of varying sizes. From a cursory glance, Simonee read the titles of a few of them, realizing that the majority of these were architectural books and writings on culture. In the middle of the room were tables and desks, the tops of which had been littered with scrolls and inkwells that still held quills inside of them. The quills themselves looked haggard and well used, and feathers had been missing from a couple. A broad tapestry displaying the crest of Stormwind hung from the wall to his left, and in front of that was the cleanest desk of the lot.

"You've come looking for Baros Alexston, and you've found him," the man said after he closed the door behind Hoardale, who had hesitated for a moment before entering, sparing another disinterested glance around the square. "I'm rather glad you've brought allies, because things are a mess."

Simonee checked his tongue before making a comment about the state of the room, and watched as the man crossed it in a few long strides, stopping at the desk beneath the tapestry. As he did, Simonee finally noticed the open letter that rested on it. The broken wax seal on the edges wasn't one that he recognized. Alexston took the letter in a meaty hand and strode back to face the mage.

"I received this a few days ago... accompanied by this," he began, producing a second letter from a small pack that hung at his waist. A second, equally unidentifiable seal adorned this one. "My old friend Gryan Stoutmantle is requesting reinforcements for Sentinel Hill. A group calling themselves the Defias Brotherhood has been claiming responsibility for attacks occurring at the settlement, as I told you in the letter I sent you. However, what I did not tell you is that the Defias are not a new group of bandits. Rather, they are an old sect of allies that segregated themselves from this very city, years ago."

Simonee listened attentively, raising his eyebrow at the last comment. "What makes you think that, Master Alexston?" he asked.

Alexston raised the second letter, handing it to Simonee. "This missive, and those that came before it," he replied as the mage took it and read.

 _Dear friend Baros,_

 _I had hoped you would join the Brotherhood in our fight for reparation, but it appears you still serve the tight-pursed masters that spurned us. It is my hope that this final correspondence persuades you to join our cause, for it won't be long before the so-called leaders of Stormwind learn the depths of their folly. There is still hope for you, old friend, but if you disregard this last attempt at outreach, I will have to number you among our enemy. It would pain me to do such a thing, but I will do as I must._

 _EVC_

The parchment the letter had been written on was stained dark brown in places. Noticing this, Simonee asked about it.

"That missive came with another package," Alexston replied, scrutinizing the mage. "That package has since been disposed of, but rest assured that it's nothing you would have wished to see." Simonee nodded. He had seen enough in the world that he could guess what sort of thing would make such stains.

Alexston took the letter back before handing Simonee the one that had been on the desk. "This is what I received from Stoutmantle. Bundled with his missive is a letter of recommendation. Stormwind can't send any official reinforcements to Sentinel Hill with her forces stretched so thin as it is, and even worse, the Crown Prince and his advisers don't want the information I've just shared with you to become public," he said, before lifting his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

"I've put my trust in you with this task because of your ability to sort out problems, and because of your decorum in handling business. That is why I ask you to represent Stormwind and aid the people of Sentinel Hill. I shouldn't have to tell you that this is rather time-sensitive, as you've read the letter. I've already requested gryphons to send you there swiftly."

Simonee's head swam with questions, but he settled on asking one. "Sir, if I may ask, what does 'EVC' mean?"

Alexston leveled another appraising look at the mage before answering, as if gauging his worth. "They're initials, son. They stand for Edwin VanCleef."

The chief architect outlined the basic situation surrounding VanCleef briefly. The man had been the previous leader of the Masons Guild, in charge of rebuilding Stormwind City after the Second War left it ravaged. The city's coffers had been nearly emptied by the war efforts and as such couldn't afford the exorbitant amount VanCleef was adamant on charging them. With their refusal to pay, he'd taken a large amount of his workers and left the city. After that, no one had ever heard word of him again, until he'd sent a letter to Alexston asking for his allegiance, as well as his ear and newfound influence in the city.

Simonee listened to the tale, all the while fighting the urge to ask the multitude of questions that continued to spring up in his mind. He began to regret that choice when Alexston finished briefing them, as the architect quickly shooed them back out into the chapel garden, and told them that they would be leaving the next morning. He had shoved the papers into Simonee's hands and quietly shut the door in a manner that suggested he'd been afraid of eavesdroppers.

Now that they were back outside, the brisk temperature fell back around their shoulders, chilling Simonee to his core. He shivered slightly as he exhaled. He willed his inner magic into focus and used it to warm his body just enough to be comfortable. Satisfied with his work, he turned to the group.

"Well, it appears we're staying here for the night," he said before the inanity of the statement fully hit him. He continued on, disregarding it. "It's probably best we get prepared for the trip now. No telling if we'll have time before we leave tomorrow."

Dagerly was holding his arms in an attempt to keep himself warm. He had begun looking more and more miserable as the day dragged on, and the cold wasn't doing him any favors. "Sounds like a plan," he muttered, looking around the district as if he expected some sort of ambush that wasn't forthcoming. "I'm going to find something warmer to wear, for a start. Turns out this leather doesn't do much for that sort of thing."

Simonee nodded. "One more thing," he began, as a thought crept into his mind. "No drinking tonight, please."

Dagerly eyed him as if he'd started a diatribe in Gutterspeak. "No drinking? What else is there to do in this blasted city?" he asked, waving his arms around indignantly.

The rogue was greeted by Simonee's sternest gaze. "I mean it. This matter sounds rather serious, and I don't think we need a hangover to make things worse."

Scoffing, Dagerly sullenly nodded his head in agreement. "Alright, alright," he grunted as he shuffled off in the direction of the trade district. Aubs barely stifled a chuckle as she watched him walk.

Satisfied that he got his point across, Simonee yawned and followed after him.

"Poor little booze hound," Aubs said in a whisper as she fell in beside him. A wicked grin lightened her face. "I almost feel sorry for him."

"Well, he's seen and done a lot... and not all of it was pleasant. I figure he uses ale as a coping mechanism," Simonee chided. He smiled inwardly despite himself. Something about Aubrey's enthusiasm was infectious. "If I wasn't worried about him getting wasted before our little flight tomorrow, I probably wouldn't have said anything at all."

Aubs seemed to consider his words, and they walked the rest of the way to the trade district in silence. Simonee looked at the stars in the sky and a pang of exhaustion washed over him.

Somewhere deep in his mind, a voice told him that this new mission was going to be anything but short and simple.

 **A/N – On Continuity** : For the past two chapters, I've been having a ton of fun trying to keep story beats intact while expanding and adjusting things to better suit the current state of my writing 'voice', up to and including the ongoing framing narrative. I've been trying to keep a lot of the dialogue and reactions at least kind of similar to how they were originally written, and it's certainly an interesting challenge, because at the same time, I'm also trying to give each character their own personalities—something I completely failed to do in the original story, and a large reason why I'm undertaking this project. I'm also writing over and around the fact that the original story was an homage to a guild that I created ten years ago, and the sort of third-wall breaking I did back then grates on the present me. All of the old characters will still be present, but introduced differently, as was the case with Aubs last chapter. At any rate, I hope you're all enjoying this retelling, and thanks for reading!


	3. The Trouble with Defias

**Chapter Three: The Trouble With Defias**

 _'On the morning of our flight to Westfall, the party and I rose early to get on our way. I had been mulling over the information that Alexston gave us over the night, and again I was exhausted heading into the new day. I couldn't stop my thoughts from drifting back to what I learned about Edwin VanCleef, and his apparent vendetta against Stormwind City. I had become concerned about the amount of organization presented by the Defias, but I pushed through it. I had a job to do, and I was going to see it through.'_

The sun was just starting to break from the horizon when the gryphons crossed the invisible border into Westfall. The beasts flew close to the ground, deftly avoiding the last few snow-covered trees that lined the edges of the forest. Below, the land turned into a blur of white snow dark rocks and a brief smear of light blue that signified the river separating the regions, as the gryphons shot through. The pastel orange light that spilled out from the young day's sun colored the snow drifts that covered the expanse of farmlands dotting the countryside, reflecting it back to Simonee in a nearly blinding display as he clung to the saddle strapped to the lead gryphon. His brown hair fluttered wildly in the winds, and the feeling was starting to irritate him as loose strands occasionally snapped back and whipped him in the face.

Baros Alexston had seen the group off from the landing platform that rose out of the trade district with only a few words spared towards wishing them good luck on their mission. Despite the group's haggard appearance with the early start, the middle-aged man looked no worse for wear. The gryphon master had regarded them with a curious look but said nothing as he began to assemble the beasts meant for the trip after Simonee presented the paperwork Alexston provided him the night previous. When he returned, the five newly-appointed adventurers set off immediately on their flight. Now, only a scant few minutes later, they were in Westfall.

Ahead, Simonee could already see the tower that stretched over the central settlement in the region, called Sentinel Hill. The tower rested stoically on the small hill that overlooked the town, a squat gray stone building that looked like a turret separated from the rest of the fortress. Planted around the building like a motley garden were houses and workshops, including the town's main structure, the large and open house-like building that held the lumber mill, its most prominent feature being the enormous saw blade that dominated the direct center. Across the snowy plains and spread out in every direction from Sentinel Hill, Simonee could also see brown wooden farmhouses peeking through the orange-tinted snow. The farmhouses were, naturally, attached to farms that were mostly inoperable through the dangerously hostile winter. Only a few brave farmers dared to grow the seasonal crops, and even fewer still would dare transport them to Sentinel Hill for distribution until spring.

The gryphon swooped down even lower and Simonee swore he could feel the ground they skimmed past. Within another few seconds, they were circling around Sentinel Hill. From his new vantage point within the town, Simonee could see one final building. A worn-down barracks was standing—barely—with a gaping hole in the center of the roof. Workers surrounded the hole like a colony of ants with hammers, strapping new planks of off-color lumber across in a vague attempt to patch the roof. The rest of the building sagged sadly on its supports, leaning heavily inward where the hole had been punched through it. Simonee found himself wondering what exactly could have caused damage that extensive. _Do the Defias have access to siege weaponry?_

After one final spiral around the town, the gryphons abruptly began decelerating with their wings poised more perpendicularly to the ground. A small wooden stand had been erected next to the tower on the titular hill, and atop that were a couple of empty gryphon roosts—at least that was what Simonee thought they were, as it looked more like a couple of wooden pallets that had been filled with a generous heap of hay. The gryphons swiftly swooped down onto the stand and deposited their riders, who looked about as windswept as Simonee felt.

"Ugh," Aubs grunted, running her fingers through the tangled web of her golden hair that had escaped its ponytail. "I _just_ fixed this in Stormwind." She heaved a heavy sigh and flopped her arms down as she wrote the situation off as pointless. A gentle breeze wafted through the area and some of the strands of her hair fluttered down to her face, as if the elements themselves were laughing at her expense. In a final resignation, she blew a forceful breath at the strands, relocating them only momentarily.

Simonee was a little transfixed by the woman who'd volunteered herself for his adventure as she was struggling to fix her hair. He found her more than a little attractive, and her personality only reinforced it. He looked on for a brief moment before Dagerly cleared his throat meaningfully.

"So, if we're all done primping ourselves up a little, maybe we can get on with our day? Seeing as how _you_ were the one summoned," he said, gesturing at Simonee, "I nominate you for spokesperson."

Simonee chuckled. "Fair enough, I suppose. Shall we, then?"

The mage took a moment to regard the town again. He supposed the only logical place for Stoutmantle to be would be the tower, so with that in mind, he stepped down from the wooden gryphon stand and walked the short distance across the hill. From this close, he could see that either his previous assessment of the building was accurate, or that the structure had seen its fair share of fighting. Large stone blocks had escaped from the mortar that held them in place, jutting out here and there from the otherwise straight-edged tower. The blocks that hung loose didn't seem to be in any sort of pattern that would indicate siege damage, but Simonee couldn't rule it out. After all, he had noticed the workers atop the building just down the hill.

As he rounded the front of the tower's entry ramp, Simonee saw who he could only assume was Gryan Stoutmantle. The man stood rigid at attention at the top of the ramp, just ahead of the entrance into the hollow structure. The armor he wore was dulled with age and lack of proper care, and large dents marred the once-silvery plates at his shoulders and arms. In a stark contrast, the Stormwind tabard around his chest was nearly pristine. The blue cloth gently fluttered about his knees, and Simonee saw that the only real damage present on the garment was some frayed golden stitching toward the bottom. The shield he claimed looked a bit like a strange mix of the conditions of the armor and tabard. The iron around the edges was dull with the exception of long thin lines consistent with sword swings that cut through the grime covering the metal and gleamed in the brightening daylight. The raised section in the middle was dyed blue in the same Stormwind colors, with a stark golden lion's head adorning the very center, and all of it was pristine.

Simonee had heard stories of Stoutmantle from the caravans that frequently passed through Goldshire. They spoke of a man much like he was seeing now; an aging man with strong convictions and an undying loyalty to his homeland. Stoutmantle wore a very serious expression as he glanced at the latest arrivals in his settlement. Long streaks of silver hair framed his face, which was wrinkled and grizzly, showing the strenuous toll of the life of fighting he'd lived.

Taken a little off-balance by the severity of the look Stoutmantle was leveling at him, Simonee called, inanely, "Are you Sir Gryan Stoutmantle?" He winced, but didn't try to backtrack. He knew it would have been pointless; to a military commander, the only thing worse than a fool was a babbling fool.

Stoutmantle's tired eyes showed a flicker of amusement before returning to their stoic standby. "No," he replied dryly, "I'm Arthas Menethil in disguise. I got tired of leading the Scourge in Northrend, so here I am."

Aeriah chuckled at the exchange, but fell silent when the knight on the hill glowered at him.

"Baros Alexston ordered me to report to you," Simonee said, recovering his senses as he tried to present himself more properly. He pulled the small stack of letters from the pack at his hip and thrust them toward Stoutmantle. "These are a letter of recommendation and the correspondence you sent him, as well as some... sensitive information."

The knight took the letters and scanned them briefly, taking a little longer on the letter from VanCleef than the rest. Simonee didn't think Stoutmantle's face could get any sterner after his first impression, but the man proved him wrong after finishing with the letter. He once again glanced over the group at his doorstep and continued scowling.

"Very well," he finally said after another moment. "I would advise that you don't go gallivanting off just yet, however. Please, make yourselves at home in our inn, such as it is," he grunted stiffly, gesturing at the half-destroyed building down the hill. "The Defias have been attacking daily for some time now, and the first thing I need from you is to reinforce my soldiers before we get to the meat of the matter. Once you get settled, come back and see me. Oh, and pardon the disrepair."

Simonee nodded curtly in acceptance of the situation. It made sense tactically to forestall the group's investigation in favor of defending what was essentially going to be home base. Simonee respected the knight's judgment also because of the countless battles he'd seen and fought in; he certainly would know better than the mage would have.

Stoutmantle handed the documents back to Simonee—minus the letter of recommendation from Alexston—and the mage retreated back down the hill toward the unfortunate half-destroyed shape of what he now knew was the town's long inn. As he walked, he took yet another look around the settlement of Sentinel Hill. He now began to notice townspeople peeking out from buildings and shacks erected at the sides of the road that led out of the town. They wore their curiosity on their sleeves, but Simonee also sensed concern from a decent amount of them, their raised eyebrows hovering above half-squinted eyes. Little children were only slightly bolder than their parents, as they began to step out of their shacks before being gently shooed back inside.

Between the state of the settlement and that of its settlers and defenders, Simonee once again found himself wondering at what exactly he and his group had been put up against. For one part, the Defias had been mounting daily attacks on the city, and from Stoutmantle's demeanor, it didn't seem likely that they would stop any time soon, which spoke to a sizable fighting force. Then there was the damage to the inn and the tower, and that could only point to a couple of possibilities; either the Defias had access to siege weaponry—which was Simonee's original thought—or the bandits had somehow infiltrated the settlement undercover and planted charges of some kind. Neither of those outlooks particularly appealed to Simonee, and not for the first time did he wish he was back in Elwynn, dealing with simple kobolds and the occasional pack of wolves. At least those creatures were distinctly lacking in wit and any real sort of organization. These Defias, and Edwin VanCleef in particular, were proving to be almost as crafty and conniving as some of the Stormwind royal court, and that was dangerous enough without adding large-scale weaponry.

Simonee was the first to enter the inn, and its innards appeared to be just as sad as the exterior was. The 'inn' was a single room lined with beds on the wall directly to the right of the door, and the wall opposite that. A small lectern was posted a few paces inside the building that served as a makeshift check-in, and aside from that, the rest of the room was bare. The crater in the roof sagged inwardly, and shards of shattered wood drooped down inside of the hole, barely attached by the thinnest of threads and dangling softly in the slight breeze that continued to play through Sentinel Hill.

Nobody was posted at the check-in lectern, so Simonee shuffled in and placed his packs down next to a bed away from the damaged portion of the ceiling. His group did likewise.

"Feels almost like home away from home," muttered Hoardale as he shifted the dark-stained brown leather straps from his shoulders, and let the pack hit the hard wooden floor.

Aeriah shuddered as he continued to stare at the hole. "It's certainly seen better days. If I had to guess, I'd also say it's seen worse, though."

"Maybe when we're done with this whole Defias thing, we can help these guys put everything back together?" Aubs suggested, moving into the center of the room.

"Yeah, or perhaps we could challenge a Nathrezim to a fistfight, or something equally as pointless," Dagerly countered, arching a brow. "I can't exactly speak for you, but I certainly don't know the first thing about patching a roof, much less rebuilding an entire town."

Aubs huffed. "It's not just about rebuilding, and most definitely not pointless. These _people_ need help, too. Did you see them? They're terrified... I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest to hear they don't even leave their house unless accompanied by at least two armed guards!"

"How do you expect _me_ to help? I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm generally in the business of helping myself primarily, and more often than not, that means hurting—or killing—other people," Dagerly shot back gruffly. His eyes briefly darkened with a fair amount of regret before the fire erupted anew in them. "If you think that's somehow going to provide _these_ people with some sort of aid, either you're very naive, or you've got the mind of a mass murderer, and I'm not sure which I dislike more." Aubs looked clearly taken aback by Dagerly's rebuttal, but Simonee saw from his posture that he wasn't done with it just yet. "Besides, the Defias Brotherhood is a band of _bandits_. If you didn't already have a prior knowledge of my existence, what would you consider me to be just on appearance alone? A priest of the Light? Uther himself? No, I'm afraid not. I'm sure these settlers see me as nothing more than a slightly friendlier bandit—one that might eventually decide to not be so friendly."

Simonee stepped forward, placing himself between Aubs and Dagerly just as the former opened her mouth to continue the argument. "Enough," he said calmly and quietly. "We haven't even started with our mission, and you're already arguing with one another? I asked for your help with this, because I trust you, Dagerly. I know that you're a good person, and it doesn't matter what anyone else judges you to be until you've done something to prove them wrong." Simonee was looking in Dagerly's eyes with a measured and even expression, but soon turned it to Aubs. "And Aubrey, I know you more or less volunteered for this, and I know your heart's in the right place, but our priority should be finding and stopping the threat of the Defias. Until we do, that's all we really need to be focusing on. Do the both of you understand?"

Aubs nodded immediately, but still seemed shaken by Dagerly's outburst. The rogue, for his part, took a few moments longer before responding, "Yeah, sure. Fine."

Simonee sighed but dropped the matter, sensing that he wasn't going to get much better out of Dagerly while he was in this state of mind. "Alright then. Let's get back to Stoutmantle. I don't know how long we have until the Defias decide to begin today's assault."

Casting one last glance at the two, Simonee turned toward the door and exited the inn. The sun had risen measurably above the horizon by the time they reemerged, and Simonee reckoned it must have been close to midday. The snow had become even brighter as it continued to reflect the light it received. The orange tint was gone, and now, for as far as the mage could see, was a great expanse of pure brilliant white. Small paths had been cleared where the dirt and dead grass beneath were exposed, and there were long trails of footprints creating small shady divots that were only just discernible from the rest of the snow.

Gryan Stoutmantle hadn't moved even an inch since the group last saw him. He nodded in their direction as a sort of greeting, but otherwise still didn't budge. He had his hands resting on his sword's pommel, one atop the other—quite possibly, Simonee surmised, the only thing about the man that was even remotely at ease. Upon their approach, the knight began to address them.

"We need to get you armed and armored. Those sticks and robes won't do you a lick of good against anything sharper than a sideways look," he grumbled, sizing up his apparent reinforcements. "We have equipment inside that's all more or less in good condition, and if you expect to survive, I'd suggest taking a look."

Simonee shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, these aren't ordinary robes. They'll stand up to whatever I need them to," he commented.

Stoutmantle scoffed heartily. "I highly doubt that son—and besides, we've got a complement of battle-caster gear in there that might suit your fancy. If nothing else, at least trust me enough to take a look. I haven't lost a man yet, and I'm not interested in starting now."

Simonee considered it for a moment before Aeriah stepped in next to him. "I think it's worth it. How long have you had those robes, anyway? I'm almost sure whatever power was in the spellthread is pretty well faded by now. I know I could certainly use some new vestments; this leather of mine is on its last legs," he whispered. Simonee briefly inspected the druid's armor. He hadn't been lying; the leather cuirass he wore was beginning to crack deeply with wear, and fairly deep scuff marks marred the material.

"Alright, we'll bite," Simonee finally said, looking back to Stoutmantle.

The knight merely nodded his head again before spinning on his heel and leading the way inside the tower's tall entryway. The interior looked smaller than the overall structure, and Simonee reasoned that it made enough sense. The stone blocks that were out of place on the exterior walls looked deep and dense, and they would have to be to withstand any sort of real assault that might befall the structure. Around the circular floor, there were a couple of weapon racks supplied with a couple of varied weapons. Simonee counted a couple of swords, a pike, and a handful of metal staves that seemed to be perfectly straight. A table was placed in the middle of the room that was topped with a scattering of random-looking paperwork. Along the left wall was a ramp that crawled around the circumference, ever higher up the tower. Placed regularly up the ramp were bracketed torches, the flickering firelight shining dully off the wrought iron.

Stoutmantle didn't linger for too long in the room, opting instead to trudge up the ramp toward the second level. It looked much the same as the first, albeit better stocked. On this floor, the racks were much fuller, and shields were scattered around the room, some on the racks, and some propped unceremoniously against the rounded wall. None of the weapons or shields looked particularly ornate, made specifically for quick production to supply field troops, not to impress onlookers. This level also held a couple of clothing racks, upon which rested some armored cloth robes and leather vests. Between every few garments poked out the unmistakable sheen of metallic chain. Upon closer inspection, Simonee could see that some of the links in the mail were in less-than-stellar condition.

"Take what you need, and don't worry about returning it. Think of it as an advance payment for your assistance," Stoutmantle said. He made to return to his vigil before pausing a moment and adding, "Just don't take too long... I have a feeling the Defias are lurking around as we speak."

"We aren't mercenaries, you know," Hoardale calmly called after him as he descended the ramp. Stoutmantle made no indication that he had even heard the warlock. "Charming fellow."

"I'm sure he was much sunnier before the Defias began to attack his settlement," Simonee replied, taking further stock of the room, spotting a couple of wardrobes that were placed directly on the edge of the floor that overlooked the ramp.

Before another moment passed, Hoardale crushed one of the clear purple prisms Simonee had seen him polishing in Stormwind. He had explained a long time ago that they were called soul shards, filled generally with the life energy of a creature—often given unwillingly—that acted as the catalyst and fuel for a warlock's more powerful spells. A rush of magic accompanied the arrival of the chattering imp that now bounced erratically at his feet. Simonee had to admit he greatly disliked the diminutive demon the most out of the warlock's sordid menagerie. In most situations it was more distracting than helpful, but Hoardale continually tried to appeal that it wasn't actually that bad. Simonee still had yet to find a time where it proved its worth over the annoyance. He didn't mind warlocks, and distrusted fel magic less than others, but he had to admit, he definitely hated imps.

The imp said something to his warlock master, but to Simonee, it sounded more like incomprehensible babble. Hoardale replied in Common. "No, Zaqtip, we are _not_ going to start a fire, and I would advise you against trying to antagonize the girl."

Aubs turned and looked at the imp. "What's all this about?" she asked as she wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disapproval.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all," Hoardale said, putting his hands in the air in a placating gesture. "He uh... he seems to have confused you for a succubus, is all. Personally I don't see any resemblance, but imps aren't exactly the most perceptive species."

"So what you're saying is that you don't think I'm as attractive as your pet succubus?" Aubs replied with a teasing tone.

Hoardale didn't seem to catch the lilt in her voice and stammered, "W-w-well, I didn't say that..."

Across the room, Dagerly was surveying a suitable-looking set of leather armor that looked less worn down than some others on the rack. "Can we maybe focus?" he asked, his irritation from his earlier exchange with the young woman still clearly audible. His hazel eyes darted back and forth between Hoardale and Aubs before continuing his inspection.

"Right. Yes, important business, and all that," Hoardale coughed. He quickly joined Dagerly next to the clothing racks and immediately picked a robe from it without much thought. His imp merely stood back and looked on, clearly bored as he impatiently continued hobbling and hopping in place. Simonee still watched it warily.

When Dagerly and Hoardale were both satisfied enough with their selections, Simonee took his turn to appraise the garments on display, and Aubs joined him. Simonee looked down at his familiar bright orange robes and finally began to notice the wear it was beginning to display. Some of the stitching was frayed, and the hem and cuffs were starting to fall apart as well. There were no visible holes in the fabric, but the arms sported several black streaks of charred fabric indicative of his trade, and that was the surest sign that indeed the enchantments hidden in the spellthreads was beginning to lose their luster. Simonee sighed and picked off one of the armored robes. It was a mostly simple affair; it was colored in the scheme of Stormwind, with a deep blue fabric and golden threads providing the trim. Small interior pockets hid thickened bolts of leather at the shoulders, chest, hips and thighs which would provide a small amount of protection from bladed implements, but seemed like they would feel incredibly uncomfortable. There was the tiniest hum of magic in the garment, and Simonee eyed it a little skeptically.

"Seems like I'm becoming quite the distraction around here... for just about everyone," Aubs whispered. Simonee read her face for a moment. Her normally jovial expression was replaced with a more somber one, tinged with regret. "I know I wasn't exactly... invited... but I appreciate the fact that I'm still here. I never really got to go anywhere before this."

"Honestly? It's alright. You haven't exactly had time to make friends with everyone, so there's bound to be some growing pains. Personally, I'm glad that you're here," Simonee replied with a wry smile. "Besides, the merchant look really didn't suit you."

Aubs chuckled quietly. "Flatterer."

"I try."

* * *

After each member of the group suited themselves up in what suitable items of armor they found, they had stood watch with Stoutmantle, whose eyes scanned warily across the bottom of the hill in search of the day's Defias invaders. Time passed slowly while they patiently waited, and the sun crept upwards toward it's zenith before a flash of motion behind a pair of buildings alerted Simonee. Stoutmantle had also seen it and began to raise the alarm. Their cover blown, the Defias rushed out into the open field under the tower, brandishing swords and knives that gleamed in the sunlight. A veritable sea of red bandannas, wrapped around the faces of the invaders, starkly contrasted against the brilliant white snow on the ground.

One of the leading bandits pointed his long blade toward Stoutmantle and Simonee's group. "You've enlisted new blood, you old fool?" he asked, his eyes incredibly expressive from behind the makeshift face mask. "No matter. Sentinel Hill will belong to the Defias! Attack!"

At his command, the Defias soldiers shouted and rushed in. Behind Simonee, he heard a clamor as armored defenders filed out of the tower, brushing past the group to clash against the masked invasion force. The sounds of battle became a deafening cacophony of noise as blades struck against shields and other blades. Simonee merely watched while the guardsmen expertly defended themselves from the bandits' wild thrashing, replying with calculated strikes. A pall of lethargy draped itself heavily on his shoulders, and the memories that he tried so hard to forget came spilling back to the front of his mind. The horrors of warfare, it seemed, had never truly left him.

Stoutmantle had joined his men, dispatching multiple assailants with agility and speed, despite his aging body. He locked eyes with the mage standing on the landing of the tower for a deceptively long moment, and called, "What are you waiting for? Attack them!"

Without further hesitation, Simonee reluctantly entered the fray with his allies at his side. The leather padding in his robes chafed at his body as they collided against it with the natural motion of the cloth, but despite it he began casting devastating spells into the crowd. Roiling cores of flame blasted into black leather armor, leaving behind holes of the melted material and charred flesh in their wake. Dagerly seemed to be nothing but a specter fleeting in and out of Simonee's sight as he deftly maneuvered around the battlefield, slicing through a fair number of Defias unfortunate enough to be in his way. Aeriah used his staff with a strange and beautiful flair as he brought it down on the thugs, disabling them from the fight. Hoardale hurled coalesced shadows, brought from the very ground beneath the tangled forces and used against the Defias that cast them, and his imp Zaqtip wildly flung mostly ineffective fiery pebbles in seemingly random directions. A vicious wintry storm erupted from the cloudless sky, sending a prodigious hail crushing down upon the heads of Aubs's enemies, and Simonee watched as a devious and wicked smile splashed over her lips as she succumbed to a certain cold battle lust. The Defias were routed in short order, and the few that survived and found their wits broke away from the fighting and ran scattershot into the fields surrounding Sentinel Hill.

Simonee panted, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He hadn't exerted himself particularly much, and the sweat was a cold one. He had seen combat before, and he had ended lives, but this was the first time that his foes were humanoid—his fellow humans, no less—and the thought sickened him. He had been fighting people that may have been much like him, with dreams and aspirations, and perhaps even families. One of the few thoughts that ran through his mind was a question: ' _what did VanCleef offer that was so lucrative that they would assault their fellow man to obtain it? Was it worth it?'_

There was no cheering from the soldiers of Sentinel Hill, or even from Stoutmantle, and Simonee sensed that similar questions had echoed within their own minds. Solemnly, the guards began to drag the dead bandits from the snow lining the hill, now soaked thoroughly red. There was a graveyard a few feet away from the settlement's inn that Simonee hadn't noticed until now, and there was where the bodies were deposited, and where a single old man began to quietly shovel snow out of new pits that would lay claim to them. The pewter gray headstones of the small graveyard stood silent watch over the man's work, but Simonee couldn't find it within himself to do the same. He turned to Stoutmantle, who returned to his previous post. His armor bore a few new red stains which he tended to with a similarly-red linen cloth—one Simonee recognized as being a bandanna from a fallen Defias.

Without looking up from his morbid work, the old knight addressed him, "While this fighting isn't entirely without honor, I can never shake the feeling that the Light will damn us for it anyway. All this pointless petty squabbling, and for what?" Stoutmantle shook his head grimly as if responding to his own question. "Regardless, you fought well. Your assistance will not go unnoticed, but there's still work that needs doing. My advice is that you go rest for a while. We may have a lead for your investigation."

Simonee nodded numbly and turned without speaking. After a few paces, he heard Stoutmantle call after him, "Try to clear your conscience... if we hadn't killed them, they would have most definitely killed us."

The thought did little to raise the mage's spirits.

Above, the sky again turned shades of magnificent colors as the sun began its descent to the far horizon. Simonee didn't notice it much, with his gaze glued to the snow beneath his boots. The mage found that he could now sympathize better with Dagerly's violent mood swings, and wished that he

could himself indulge in seeing the bottoms of a few tall mugs of some strong dwarven ale.

Soon enough, his view changed from snow to dark panels of damaged wood. He lifted his gaze again to the hole in the ceiling. The workers had fled at the first sign of the incoming Defias, and long shafts of the replacement wood still jutted into the air between the two disconnected sides of the blasted roof. A thought occurred to Simonee as he stared at the beam. _'I'm still no closer to finding out how that happened.'_ He resolved to ask Stoutmantle about it the next time he saw him.

A cool draft rushed through the bare single-room inn. Simonee pulled his robes in tighter and lamented the bolts of leather within as they pressed against his already-raw body. He glanced at his party to gauge how they had taken the battle. For the most part they seemed less shaken than he had been, with the exception of Aubs, whose battle lust had disappeared entirely after the fighting had stopped. Now that wicked smile was replaced by a somber frown, and she seemed to stare into the space in between two planks of wood in the wall. Dagerly almost casually strolled to the bed he'd claimed and settled into it, still armored in the new leathers he'd picked from the garrison. He laid there with his hands behind his head and his emotionless gaze plastered to the ceiling above him.

Simonee rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. He sighed and moved to his own bed, removing the irritating robe in favor of simply wearing his old linen shirt. The blue robe fell to the floor in a heap like a stone-laden waterfall, and dull thuds reverberated through the entire battered structure. At the sound, Aubs seemed to break from her stupor and looked at him as he sat on the rough cloth-covered hay mattress. He met her gaze and in it, he thought he saw the faintest glimmer of pleading. He offered a meek smile of reassurance that he himself hadn't felt, but said nothing. Without warning, Aubs quickly stepped across the room and sat next to him, planting her forehead on his shoulder and sobbing quietly.

Unsure of how to react, Simonee instinctively wrapped his free arm around her shoulder and lightly squeezed.

"I don't know what came over me," she whispered, her voice breaking with misery. Simonee was still off-guard and couldn't think of the words to say, and so a silence washed over the room as she sobbed.

Dagerly's voice was the next thing to cut through the quiet, low and gentle. "You got caught up in it. It happens to everyone the first time," he said. Simonee turned his head to look at the rogue, and noticed that he'd sat up, his head dipped low. It almost seemed that he was muttering more to the floor than to anyone in particular. "Don't worry about it too much; you _lived_ to regret it. That's all that matters—all that will ever really matter."

Simonee heard Aubs gasp lightly in his shoulder as she raised her head to glance at him. The tears she had cried were soaking into the linen of his tunic, but all told, he didn't mind. She finally returned his half-embrace and gave Dagerly a weak smile.

"I guess so," she replied. "Thanks, Dagerly... and I'm sorry about earlier."

Dagerly met her gaze and gestured a hand to wave it off. "It's alright. My career path isn't exactly glamorous, I know. Misunderstanding is just a part of the job."

Resting her head again on Simonee's shoulder, Aubs smiled slightly wider. Simonee had to admit that even he felt a little better now, especially with the reconciliation between his two allies. He inwardly resolved to not let his misgivings get in the way of his mission. The Defias were very obviously dangerous, and he was going to do all he could to make sure they wouldn't be a threat to anyone anymore—even if that meant ending the lives of scores of his fellow men.

He fervently hoped that it wouldn't come to such drastic measures.

Before too much longer, he heard the babbling of Hoardale's imp breaking into his thoughts.

"Zaqtip, I already told you, she's not a succubus. I don't think she even likes you," the warlock said dryly.

Aubs laughed lightly into Simonee's shoulder, and he did likewise. If the Light would damn them for this mission, at least he would be in good company.


	4. Gnoll Rest for the Wicked

**Chapter Four: To Kill a VanCleef, Part One: Gnoll Rest for the Wicked**

It hadn't been very long before Aubs shuffled back off to her own bed and everyone, exhausted, dozed off in the uncomfortable hay-filled mattresses they laid claim to. When Simonee had woken up, even he had to admit that despite the bed fit more for feeding horses, it had been probably the best night's sleep he'd gotten in a little while.

The group had woken up and were listening with rapt attention as Stoutmantle laid out the plan and the intelligence he had for them.

"We found this fine, upstanding member of society yesterday. It seems your druid's nonlethal approach was good for something," he began, gesturing at a bound Defias gangster. The man was bald, the early day's sun reflecting off the astoundingly shiny surface. His red bandanna was in tatters, but was still fastened tightly across his nose and mouth. "We've already spoken with him a bit, and he's been surprisingly forthcoming about the possible whereabouts of their little hideout."

The leather-clad bandit squirmed restlessly in his bonds for a moment, but was relatively motionless besides. His deep brown eyes appraised the group with a look of mild interest playing at his eyebrows. "They don't exactly pay well enough for all of this," he muttered, lolling his head from side to side in a gesture that Simonee could only assume was meant to encompass the Hill.

"Anyway," Stoutmantle continued, sparing nothing more than a disdainful glance in the bandit's direction, "he didn't give the People's Militia its specific location, but he has agreed to lead a small scouting party to the hideout, and requested that it be you. Personally, I see no reason why that shouldn't happen, considering that was going to be the plan in the first place." Stoutmantle pulled out a small roll of parchment, and even upside down, Simonee could see that it was a map of Westfall. "Our traitor friend here mentioned that the Defias base is to the south of us. There's only a few places that would fit the description, and if you want my bet, my money's on somewhere near Moonbrook."

"Moonbrook, sir?" Simonee asked. The mage wasn't very familiar with the name. He suddenly regretted not taking the initiative and looking at a map of the area before now.

"Aye. It's a town to the south that's directly connected to the biggest mine on this side of the Eastern Kingdoms," he mentioned as he pointed it out on the map. The map displayed a small icon of a house that was surrounded by the small carrots indicating mountains or hills, and a line led from the house icon into the indication of a cave mouth. "We settled the place quite some time ago, after Sentinel Hill grew big enough to warrant such expansion, and the mine located there has been an incredible boon to us and to Stormwind. However, we've stopped receiving shipments and correspondence from them, and what's even better, it coincides with about the time the Defias started attacking. We've had suspicions, but lacked the manpower to investigate it."

"So... wait. You've already _known_ where they are, but you haven't counterattacked them?" Dagerly asked, raising an eyebrow and holding up a hand to stop the elder knight. "You could have stopped their attacks, but didn't?"

Stoutmantle glared at the rogue, his mouth set in a thin line. "My duty is to the people of Sentinel Hill. If I went off half-cocked on suspicions and hearsay, I would be in gross dereliction of that duty, possibly even inviting harm to come to them, and I cannot abide by that. So no, I have _not_ ordered a counterattack in the case that it may be a bait and switch. I _cannot_ order my men to attack what could amount to nothing more than phantoms."

Dagerly scowled in return, but didn't say anything else on the matter.

"So when are we leaving?" Simonee said, returning the conversation to its track. He didn't want his friend to do something he might end up causing the whole group to regret.

"Right now, actually. We've got no time to waste. I want you to take a couple of your allies and our captive here and find their base of operations. When you've done that, return to me. Under no circumstances are you to attack that base until we have a plan. Is that understood?" Stoutmantle wore a very serious expression, and he was obviously speaking in response of Dagerly's outburst. Simonee silently cursed his friend's outspoken nature—it was clear that the knight in front of them expected him to keep a tighter leash on them, despite the fact that they were not, in fact, a part of the Stormwind army, officially or otherwise.

Simonee nodded, and responded, "Yes, sir. Go out, find the base, come back. No rough stuff."

The mage looked on with a hint of interest as the knight actually smiled. It was the first time he'd actually seen the man do so, and it looked as though it happened about as often as it seemed—his grin was entirely lopsided and awkward. "Good. Whoever you don't select for the mission will remain here and assist the militia with a few small tasks. Make your choice and be on your way. As I said, time is not exactly on our side here."

At his last word, Stoutmantle turned and disappeared into the bowels of the tower, leaving the mage and his friends to make the decision. Simonee already had an idea of who he wanted with him.

"Alright," he started, running a hand through the bangs of his hair. "Aeriah, Dagerly, you're with me." He wanted his oldest friends at his side, and he figured that the two of them would be excellent for reconnaissance. "Hoardale, Aubs, stay here and do whatever Stoutmantle wants. No reason we should deny him that."

"Of course," Hoardale said. "Light be with you, Sim," he added, almost mockingly.

Simonee laughed at the comment. "I would say the same to you, but I think we both know how you feel about that subject," he replied with his smile still present. "Oh, and I'd suggest the voidwalker. At least that thing won't mistake Aubs for a demon."

It was Hoardale's turn to laugh, "Duly noted."

Aeriah cleared his throat pointedly. "Alright, alright," Simonee said. "Let's get going. We'll be back soon."

Simonee collected the traitor and together with his hand-picked allies, they strode away from Sentinel Hill, passing by the shacks lining the heavily-tracked snow that marked the path out of the town, and turned toward the south once they cleared the sides of the hills backing the inn and its adjacent buildings. Again, townsfolk peered meekly out of their ever-so-slightly-ajar doors, staring daggers at the red mask of the man in front of the party. For his part, the man simply ignored them and continued on.

The snow on the ground crunched loudly with every step, and it was already beginning to irritate the mage, but he pressed on, keeping the traitor a step ahead of him with a firm grasp on his forearm, just above the bindings on his wrists. The man was tense, and his shoulders were squared as if he expected to fight... or like he was being marched to his execution. The thought stuck out in Simonee's mind.

When they had finally rounded the small snow-capped hills bordering the settlement, the Defias man seemed to relax a little. "This is going to be quite a trip, you know. Westfall's a big place."

The man's words didn't faze Simonee much; he knew Westfall's reputation for being much larger than it appeared. The generally-flat landscape allowed travelers to see for miles in all directions, which perpetuated the illusion of a profound smallness, when in fact the area was almost as big as Elwynn Forest, with the annexed lands of the Northshire Abbey and Stormwind City included. At the very least, the lack of hills would make the trip relatively gentle.

"Yes, and what is your point?" he asked, leveling a glare into the back of the man's bald head. He noticed a few loose red strings dangling from the fastened knot that attached the bandanna to his face.

The man sighed. "This isn't going to be a one-day trip, is what I'm saying. Your arm's going to tire out if you continue to death grip me like that," he muttered, irritation clear in his voice.

"If you think, even for a moment, that I'm going to release you for a reason such as that, you're quite mistaken," Simonee said with a mirthless chuckle. "There is no reason you wouldn't just run the very moment I did. I can only imagine what a band of brigands would do to someone who betrayed their cause."

The Defias actually laughed boisterously at the mage's comment. He sighed as he settled down, saying, "You don't know the half of it, but you do have a point. They're going to want _me_ dead for bringing you there, and they're going to want _you_ dead just for your trespass." Simonee noted the extra stress he placed on the latter half of the statement. "I'd suggest you be prepared."

"I wouldn't worry about us, buddy," Dagerly interjected, listening on from just behind Simonee. "I would, however, worry about yourself, and what will happen once we finish this." He pulled out one of his daggers from its cracked leather sheathe on his belt, holding it up to the light in a show of inspecting it. The blade was a straight-edged implement, unlike the wickedly curved blades other rogues tended to enjoy using. _"I may not be much more than a killer for hire,"_ Dagerly had told Simonee when he asked about it, _"but I'm not a monster. I don't like causing more pain than is due."_

Simonee saw a streak of fear in the man's eyes as he turned his head to look at the rogue. "What do you mean?" he asked, almost timidly. "Stoutmantle and his people promised me amnesty if I did this. You can't touch me."

Dagerly chuckled. "Right, and you won't decide to take off at the first opportunity. I'm telling you that if you do, you won't regret it for very long."

"Can't you see you're putting this poor fellow in distress?" Aeriah asked, falling into step beside the rogue. His tone was lightly sarcastic, and Simonee wondered at what the two of them were up to. "I don't exactly trust him, mind you, but if he cooperates with us... well I'd say that earns him what he was offered."

The Defias man scoffed, becoming clearly unimpressed with the way the conversation was turning out. "Look, you can play Uther and Kil'jaeden all you like. You don't scare me," he said, the fear fading from his voice. "Like I said, you can't touch me... and _you_ can stay right the fel away from me with that stick of yours," he added, nodding toward Aeriah's general direction.

"For one, you should rethink your position here. You're not in a place where you can order anyone around, much less Aeriah here. Secondly, I don't think I care much about what Stoutmantle thinks of me," Dagerly quipped in a near growl. The dagger glinted sharply in the light. The rogue's words and display had a more profound effect on the man in front of Simonee than the first attempt, and betraying his almost calm appearance, the mage could feel him quivering slightly in spite of himself.

He had heard enough. "Okay. I think he gets the point," he said, patting the traitor on the shoulder with his free hand. The Defias jumped slightly at the touch. "We don't need to antagonize him any more. He'll cooperate... _right_?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," the man replied, his voice shaky and clearly unnerved.

By then, they had put quite a distance between them and Sentinel Hill. The town's stolid tower still imposed itself on the horizon as if they hadn't even left, but Simonee ignored the touted illusion. Ahead of them, quite a long way, he thought he could see the makings of wooden buildings at the base of a stretch of mountains. Closer, he could definitely see small campsites with small pitched tents scattered across the plains, complete with cooking fires with spits erected above them. The spits were empty, and the tents looked tattered and in shambles. He realized with a pit in his stomach that he recognized the work on display. Gnolls.

The gnoll population could have been considered a more dangerous cousin to the kobold. Whereas kobolds were small and timid, gnolls were very large and intimidating. They had snarling faces that resembled a dog's—along with paws for hands and feet—and powerful legs that, if extended fully, drew them up to a height that could tower over a man. They generally wore the pilfered and bloodstained armor and arms from fallen soldiers, which despite the ill fit caused them to look even more frightening. On top of all that, they had burly furred arms several inches thick with corded muscle, and were even stronger than they looked. It also wasn't unheard of to see gnolls and kobolds working together—more often than not it was the gnolls forcing the kobolds into servitude, but the point remained.

In Elwynn, and the lands near Goldshire in specific, gnolls were a fairly rare sight, a fact for which Simonee had been grateful. The most concentrated population in the forest was a long distance from the small town, close by the border to Westfall. Guards from Stormwind were constantly being rotated to fight them back; a tower much like the one posted at Sentinel Hill housed a contingent of soldiers tasked with killing the most notorious and craftiest of the nasty dog-like creatures, who inexplicably referred to himself as Hogger. Every so often, Simonee would see injured soldiers traveling through Goldshire toward the city on the backs of horse-drawn carriages as they were replaced with fresher troops, which made the mage quite glad he hadn't ever been contracted to try and bring the beast to justice.

The gnoll camps around the snowy plains concerned Simonee; he hadn't been told to expect them, and suddenly felt wholly unprepared for the expedition he'd been sent on. He did his best to hide his new trepidation that rose with every step closer, keeping a firm—but not too firm—grip on the man's arm.

They had gotten quite close indeed to one such camp by the time the sun began to set to the west. The fire, despite being completely untended for hours on end, continued to roar and sputter, and little dots of light marked out what looked to Simonee like a random plot of taken lands. Despite the gnolls' considerable intelligence and craftiness, it didn't seem like these camps had been placed very strategically, nor did it appear that they communicated between themselves. The observation eased Simonee's concerns slightly, but he was still very wary about trying to take on a pack of gnolls, even with his friends at his side. The mage took note of the darkening sky, and decided that now would probably be a great time to set up their own little camp, while they were still a good distance away from those of the gnolls.

"I hate to say it, but it's far too cold around here to forego a fire," he muttered to Dagerly and Aeriah when they finally settled to a stop. The rogue was looking much more amiable than he had the days previous, and Simonee could only surmise that it was because he was finally getting a chance to do something besides being carted around cities and towns. "We'll have to keep it as small as possible, though... if the gnolls catch wind that we're around, things will get very ugly, very quickly."

Dagerly nodded, looking across the plain toward one of the gnolls' closer campsites. "Yeah. I don't exactly feel comfortable with the idea of being roasted on one of those spits," he commented with a slight sneer. Simonee tended to agree. Being eaten alive was certainly not an item on his list of things to do.

"I, for one don't think it's a good idea to stop here," Aeriah said. He shifted his weight restlessly and his eyes scanned the expanse ahead, looking for any sign of the gnolls who called the camps home.

"We have to, unfortunately. I agree that it's dangerous, but there's really no option here," Simonee explained. "Without the sunlight, we're basically walking blind."

Aeriah sighed explosively, as he brought his gaze to Simonee's. He finally stopped squirming for a moment. "Alright, but what about our guide?" he asked in a whisper, nodding meaningfully at the Defias who was making quite the show of pretending not to listen in. He seemed to be taking a vague interest his shoes, but stole furtive glances at the group standing nearby every now and then. To his credit, even though Simonee allowed him alone without a bracing hand, he hadn't made a move to try and escape. Perhaps Dagerly's transparent threats had done the trick.

"What about him?" asked the rogue, noting the same reluctance to try and leave. "I don't think he's going anywhere."

The man kicked at some dirt as Aeriah watched him shift his weight to his other leg. "All the same, I think we should have some sort of tangible insurance."

Simonee thought to argue more, but reconsidered. He was tired from a day's worth of hiking and gripping the man's arm had indeed taken a toll on his hands and arms. They burned and ached and he just wanted to rest. "Fine," was the syllable he settled on. He rummaged through his packs and found a twine of rope he carried with him for long incursions into the various mines in Elwynn. He generally used it as a pathfinding tool—he would lay it down behind him to mark his path through the caves so he could return to the entrance easily—and occasionally used it to descend into lower caverns. It was an old rope that he picked up after his first time getting lost in Jangodeep mine, from a shifty-eyed merchant who occasionally posted himself at the crossroads between the Redridge Mountains and Westfall. The rope was rather thin and well-used, and frayed strands poked through the weave at irregular intervals. He only hoped it would be strong enough for this purpose.

He strode over to the Defias traitor and began fitting the rope around the preexisting binds that held his arms to his back. With a yank, he finished the knot and trailed the rope behind him as he took several long strides away.

"What's this about?" the man asked. His eyes darted between the rope in Simonee's hand and his own hands behind his back.

"Insurance," Simonee replied brusquely. He wasn't very interested in talking anymore, longing to just sit and try not to think about the gnolls and their gnashing teeth and their huge paws and the swords they pilfered and the soldiers being carted past with gashes as thick and long as his finger and missing limbs and...

Simonee stopped himself with a deep breath. Now was not the time to panic.

The mage looked around and saw a wooden post sticking out of the snow nearby. The post rose to about his waist and at the top he noticed a plank of wood bolted perpendicularly across it. _What used to be a fence,_ he mused. That would do. He moved to the fence's remnant and lashed the rope around its base with another knot. Satisfied with his work, he glanced pointedly back at Aeriah who nodded in thanks. Then he realized another problem. They spoke about a campfire, but had nothing to start it with. There wasn't anything in his pack he could use for it, either. He sighed, knowing what he would need to do. He didn't relish the thought one bit.

As a young man, Simon Everblaze had lived in Stormwind with his parents, his brother and his sister in a small home in what was now considered the 'Old Town'. He realized he was attuned with the arcane when he started an incident involving fire and an abandoned warehouse on the other side of the district, and that was when his life changed... and his life changed him. He had become fearful of the power within him, and of fire magic especially after witnessing its pure destructive power. He still hadn't quite gotten over that now—even after extensive training through his teenage years—and he didn't like tapping into his power for vanities like this. With another deep breath, he reminded himself that it wasn't a vanity... it was absolutely necessary. They would likely freeze to death otherwise with the winds rushing through the low, flat lands and the snow beneath them freezing over in the absence of the sun's relative warmth.

Simonee knelt to the ground and cleared his mind, reaching inwardly for the magic that rushed through his veins. Its currents washed over him and he pulled from it as if he'd dipped a cup into a bubbling stream, harnessing the magic's incessant hum of power. Runes danced in his mind's eye, an ancient language long forgotten but for the world's mages, each symbol defining a different aspect of a spell's function. He mentally picked and chose at the ones he would use, each selection burning slightly brighter than the rest that continued to float on by. When he finished, the runes formed a string, like letters forming a word, and if translated to a more modern tongue, that string would have read _combustion_.

The process always felt longer in his mind, but in the span of a few mere seconds after he knelt, a bright pinpoint of fire spontaneously blazed to life and expanded into a more suitable size for their small party. The snow beneath the floating patch of flames melted away, revealing the ruddy colors of the dead grasses beneath, illuminated by the flickering tendrils of fire above. The fire gradually stopped growing, and finally stopped completely, before it had been able to match the breadth of the gnolls' fires. Simonee silently hoped that the gnolls would disregard it as another of their campsites.

With his tasks complete, he blew out a slow breath from his mouth, the heat from it misting in the brisk winter air, and surveyed the situation. The rope that tethered the Defias to the broken section of fence held firm, either belying its strength or showing that the man truly didn't intend to test it. Aeriah continued to surreptitiously monitor their guide, sitting on his legs and keeping his staff ready. Across from him, Dagerly had opted to sharpen his knives, but even as relaxed as he seemed to be, Simonee had known the man long enough to see that he was in fact quite alert and ready to pounce should the need arise. Simonee's gut and his primal fears told him that it wasn't the traitor they really had to worry about.

After they set up a watch schedule—which Simonee had reluctantly took up first watch to ensure nothing untoward would happen to their Defias guide—everyone settled in for the long night ahead. The traitor curled himself up as comfortably as he could, on the ground with his hands still tied behind his back, next to the fire. Simonee's two allies had bedrolls laid out across the snow that managed to escape the flame's heat, and both had drifted to a more or less peaceful sleep, leaving the mage alone with his thoughts... and the gnolls. None had shown up in the hour or so he'd been watching, but he was absolutely not about to let his guard down. He heard the occasional baying of one or two in the distance, and the sounds sent shivers through his body... or maybe that was the penetrating cold in the air. Simonee couldn't be sure, but he absolutely knew he didn't like what he was hearing.

Before long, however, he had begun to lose focus. The cold bit at his body harshly, draining his energy and continually drawing his thoughts to keep his teeth from chattering together as he shivered. Another few moments after he noticed that, he began to pass out involuntarily.

It felt like he'd barely been out for a few seconds when he heard rustling noises and the straining of wood. Simonee opened his eyes and stifled a terrified yelp. Two towering gnolls had indeed come to investigate the group's camp. To his surprise, they seemed more interested in the Defias captive than anyone else. The beasts wore piecemeal armor that had several holes punctured through the mail and leather, as well as char marks as big as Simonee's hand that splashed out against the materials. One was barely shorter than the other, maybe half a head by Simonee's estimation through the chilly haze his head had become. The taller of the two was a spectacular specimen of sheer size—twice as burly as the average gnoll Simonee had seen, and about ten times uglier. His furry muzzle was marred almost beyond recognition by several long scars and chunks of missing flesh, obviously the effect of either a savage mauling or a particularly hairy battle. The smaller was almost meek by comparison, with thin and wiry arms that hid the creature's obvious strength. Simonee could still see the incredible tendons through the fur and flesh as they bulged with effort. The gnolls had grabbed the Defias' shoulders and ribs with four meaty and matted paws and were hefting mightily against the tether. It held, but only barely, as more threads came loose from the weave. The fence post did not.

With a sharp crack, the fence post shattered in two. The portion that remained in the frozen ground was jagged and splintered into wicked spikes, but even that paled to the other half, equally as deadly sharp and flying straight at Simonee. The knot that fastened the rope to the fence held tight, but had slid to the wooden rail in the gnolls' efforts, and as they took off running with the bandit defector, the impromptu stake had been dragged along with them. Simonee thought quickly and leapt toward the rapidly moving rope, his hands outstretched. His gambit paid off in that his hands made contact with the rope, but he was quickly coming to realize how bad of an idea it truly had been; almost immediately he felt a sharp pain as the loose threads of the hemp bit into his hands as they sped past, and it was all he could do to not cry out in pain as he gripped onto it with all his might. When his raw hands finally found purchase in their grip, he began to be pulled along at a frightening speed, the ground beneath him a blur of pure white. The joints at his shoulders and elbows screamed for mercy at the jolt of the impact. Behind him, he noticed his friends, prepared for battle and rushing behind him and the gnolls.

He couldn't tell how far they'd been pulled along, but he didn't really want to think about it. When they finally stopped, he finally let go of the rope, stained a bright red with his blood. Hundreds of small cuts lined his palms, and whatever skin _hadn't_ ended up mutilated by the rope was rubbed raw by the friction. He chanced a look at where they'd ended up, and wasn't very surprised to see they'd been dragged—literally in his case—to one of the larger camps further along in the plains. The two gnolls that had infiltrated his camp disappeared into the folds of the larger tent of the two that had been erected. It was comprised of a thick black cloth, and shreds of it fluttered violently in the winds that swept through the plain. Before too long, the gnolls returned to his sight, and two more had joined them. These gnolls looked to be of more average build, with no particularly remarkable features that stood out to Simonee's dazed inspection.

The four gnolls immediately set to work, carrying the Defias bandit—who was now quite awake and screaming, while his eyes very nearly bulged out of his head—toward their spit above the fire. The man thrashed wildly in a vain attempt to loosen their hold on him, but the effort did nothing but tire him out. Simonee cursed under his breath and began to draw himself up. His hands and arms hurt like he'd just been trying to wrestle ravenous Stranglethorn piranhas swimming in razor blades, but he disregarded it. He once again called upon his magic stores and quickly assembled a couple of fireballs that blazed brightly above both of his outstretched hands.

"Let him go!" he called defiantly as the gnolls finally began to take notice of his presence. "I won't say it again."

As he spoke, he bought a precious few seconds for his allies to arrive, winded and looking more than a little worse for wear. They each stopped at his side and readied their weapons, panting wildly and trying to appear more ready than they actually were. Simonee realized a little dejectedly that it must have been quite a distance indeed that he'd been dragged along. The gnolls, for their part, looked almost amused by the show the two humans and the night elf had put on. The large one even _smiled_. Simonee fought the urge to hurl at the sight of the rows of yellow-stained teeth on display.

Unintelligibly, the large gnoll Simonee took to calling Smiles—the leader, if he had to guess—shouted orders to the others, and all at once, they dropped the Defias man unceremoniously to the frozen ground. A harsh thump and a meek grunt of pain broke the relative silence before the sounds of unsheathed weapons rang out across the camp.

Simonee almost did a double-take when he noticed the brandished cutlery. Smiles held a nearly impeccable wicked pike in his bulky paws, and the others were outfitted with simple-looking swords with notches missing from the steel blades. Comically small bucklers had been strapped the smaller gnolls' arms, but the humor of the situation was clearly lost on the terrified Simonee. Not for the first time, he desperately wished that whoever created gnolls had been cursed with the cruelest and most foul ailment they could possibly have contracted.

Without another word, Smiles began the charge. Simonee fired off both of the fireballs he'd been lofting in quick succession, aimed directly at the hulking gnoll. His opponent battered the first away effortlessly with the flat of his pike's blade, and simply rushed through the second, which splashed against his already-blackened chain hauberk. The attack barely even seemed to faze the beast, who let out a guttural roar as he neared the mage, his pike poised to strike. As the pike came down to cleave him from the shoulder down, Simonee nimbly dove away as his reflexes took hold. As he fell toward the ice beneath him, he quickly fashioned a prison that trapped Smiles' legs in that same ice. The gnoll furrowed his brow and snarled darkly in his direction. Before another moment passed, Simonee crashed to the ground and all the air left his lungs in a single rush. His ribs ached terribly as he scrambled to rise again, and he made a mental note to not do that again. Upon standing, the mage readied another fireball and shot it at his immobile target. Smiles was not living up to his namesake as the roiling flames neared him. A flash of motion caught Simonee's eye before the spell connected, but his nose was assaulted by the stench of burning fur all the same.

A glance was all it took for Simonee to realize what had happened. The smallest gnoll had leapt in front of the fireball just as it was about to land, taking the deathblow for Smiles. His fur smoldered gently around the gaping wound in his chest, the same rough circumference as an apple. Simonee sneered and cursed inwardly. He didn't think gnolls actually had _compassion_ for one another! He knew a decent amount about gnolls, but this was the first time he'd ever heard of—or seen, for that matter—such a display of misguided heroism from the filthy animals. It hadn't changed his mind about them, and he fully intended to slay all of these brutes, but it gave him enough pause for the icy buildup around Smiles' legs to dissipate, losing him his advantage. The gnoll roared again and once again took a battle stance, his cloudy eyes brightened with rage.

Another instant and Smiles' pike was once again whistling through the air at him. Keeping in mind the result of his last evasive maneuver, Simonee quickly sidestepped the sharp blade and retaliated with a blast of super-heated air. The attack sent flames licking once more at the shredded mail that barely contained Smiles' bulky form, and knocked him back several paces. The gnoll let out a low growl and began a quick succession of attacks, each more frenzied and desperate than the last. More than a few nicked at the hard leather pads bouncing around in the mage's new robe's inner pockets, and for once he was grateful that they were there. He admitted to himself that they were indeed worth the horrible chafing feeling.

Soon enough, Smiles' endurance wore thin, and the attacks slowed, finally giving Simonee another chance to finally end the fight. This hulking beast had caused him enough grief now, and he was more than ready to be rid of him. He quickly summoned up a larger portion of the magic within him and with it formed an immense ball of pure, raging flame in his anger. He was beginning to lose his fear of the powerful destroyer that floated blithely above his palm, and that very thought concerned him. He thought back to the warehouse he'd accidentally demolished in his youth, and how fearful he'd been before learning it truly was abandoned. Simonee shook the thoughts out of his head visibly and steeled himself. This was different. This time, he was defending not only himself, but someone else, and if he didn't attack, things were going to get worse for him. This needed to end, _now_. With a shout, Simonee let the flames loose.

Smiles reacted too late to the attack, flagging from his flurry only moments before. Before he could evade it, the missile was upon him, and he was nothing more than so much ash scattering in the wind.

Simonee collapsed to his knees and fell forward, losing consciousness long before his head hit the hard frozen ground.


End file.
